The Letter
by BohemianMuse
Summary: Harry and Hermione are out in the real world, without Ron. Will Harry ever find out how Hermione feels? If fate has anything to do with it, he will.
1. Leaving Hogwarts

A.N.—I do not own Harry Potter or any other affiliate characters or settings.  
  
It was graduation day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Valedictorian Hermione Granger sat on the four-poster bed she had grown to know and love so well for the last time in her life. The graduation ceremony was over. Everyone was supposed to be gathering up their luggage to take down to the waiting carriages. But Hermione was still sitting on her bed, looking out the window, not really seeing anything at all. She did not have a look of melancholy nostalgia that most graduates have when leaving school, but the look of a person fighting a losing battle with herself. The look of a person who has just decided not to do something she should, or to do something she shouldn't. The look is the same. Hermione's current decision fell into both categories.  
  
"Hermione! Hurry up! We're going to miss the train!" a familiar voice called up the stairs.  
  
"Yes, coming!" Hermione said quickly. Pulling herself out her reverie, she signed the parchment laid out on her lap, then folded it into perfect thirds. She quickly scrawled a name on an envelope and slipped the letter inside, magically sealing it so only the person it was addressed to could open it. But instead of tying it to the customary leg on an owl, she slipped it in her bag and headed downstairs for the last time.  
  
"Finally," Harry groaned as Hermione appeared at the foot of the stairs. He instinctively picked up her trunk for her as she led the way out of the common room. Hermione's quietness did not surprise Harry. Ever since Ron's death in the final battle against Voldemort four months earlier, Hermione had gone very quiet. Of course, no one suspected anything but this type of behavior, as Hermione and Ron had been dating since the beginning of their 7th year. Harry and Hermione had grieved together, talked through it with each other, been there for each other, but Harry came out of it alone, leaving Hermione on the other side. Everyone, including Harry, assumed it was just taking Hermione a bit longer to get through. Nothing strange or wrong with that. Only Hermione knew it to be more.  
  
True, it had taken Hermione a bit longer that Harry to come to terms with the loss of their best friend, but for the past two-and-a-half months she had been inwardly grieving Hermione didn't know how long she had been in love with Harry, but she only realized after Ron's death. This was the new idea Hermione had been struggling with since her recognition of her initial loss: What if it had been Harry that died, and neither of them knew how she felt? What if he dies later on, still not knowing? What if he doesn't feel the same way and Hermione loses the last friend she's got in the world?  
  
So Hermione had to make a decision whether or not to let Harry know of her feelings. And Hermione, being a firm believer in the magic of true love, and being the cleverest witch of her age, had a plan. 


	2. Riding Home

Harry and Hermione quietly found a private compartment for their last ride on the Hogwarts Express. The first ten minutes of the journey were spent in silence, Hermione's head resting on Harry's shoulder, his head on top of hers, and all four hands intertwined. This was the position they fell into night after night in the common room, after hours of crying, consolation, and talking. As the scenery flew by outside their compartment window, so flew Hermione's thoughts. She decided she had to execute her plan now, or she never would. She slipped her head from underneath Harry's and mumbled something about checking on Ginny. She picked up her bag and silently slid out of the compartment.  
  
Hermione had no intention of visiting Ginny. She solemnly stalked the length of the train back to the caboose, a great lump forming in her throat all the while. She stepped onto the windy platform, now gulping back the tears welling in her eyes as she reached in her bag and pulled out the letter she had written that afternoon. She stared at the letter for a few moments, unconsciously letting the first teardrops fall. Hermione kissed the letter, her leaking eyes slightly smudging the name written neatly across the envelope.  
  
Hermione leaned far out across the railing of the car, the letter in her outstretched hand. After a quick, silent prayer (to which god she wasn't sure), she let go of the letter and watched it whip around in the furious wine. Hermione fell back (she had been on tiptoe) and let the convulsive sobs she could not suppress anymore take over. She was not crying for Ron.  
  
Hermione didn't know how long she had been crying. Nor did she know someone had just slipped silently onto the caboose with her. She didn't hear her name being tentatively called out from behind her. She only became aware of the presence when she felt a pair of hands rest gently on her hips and heard a familiar voice whisper, "Hermione, are you OK?" in her ear.  
  
Hermione took a few seconds to gulp back the still-steady stream of tears before turning and giving Harry a weak smile and a short nod.  
  
"Hermione, I will always be here for you," Harry said with such sincerity that the dam Hermione had been so furiously building broke inside her. She let out a small moan and flung herself around Harry's neck. He kissed her cheek and led her gently back to their compartment, where she composed herself and they resumed their usual position.  
  
Hermione had fallen asleep on Harry's shoulder soon after they had re- settled in their compartment. Her subconscious knew she was done crying for a while and felt she deserved a good rest. Or maybe those heart-wrenching sobs on the caboose had simply worn her body into exhaustion. For whatever reason, Hermione was in a deep and dreamless sleep. Harry didn't want to wake her. He hadn't seen her this content in a long time.  
  
But as the train slowed, Harry reluctantly shook and whispered Hermione back to reality. They made their way off the train, all the other students carefully avoiding them, passing them silently with downcast eyes. They slipped through the barrier together and Harry immediately found the Dursleys. He turned to Hermione, wishing all the world he could stay with her. He felt she needed him still. They set down their luggage and turned to each other, both of her hands in his.  
  
"Hermione," Harry began. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, wasn't sure what he felt, exactly. He paused, looking down at her. Though her eyes were no longer shining with tears, they held such a sadness and fear that Harry's breath was taken away.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said. She stood on her tiptoes and gently tugged on Harry's robes, leaning him into her. She kissed him softly. It wasn't a friendly peck, nor a wet, passionate smooch, but a kiss full of thanks, apology, and a hit of sorrow.  
  
Hermione slid into his arms and hugged him tightly.  
  
"We'll write, won't we?" Hermione asked cautiously.  
  
"Every day," Harry whispered into her hair. He kissed the top of her head, then rested his cheek there. He blinked back tears he hadn't felt coming.  
  
Hermione was the first to pull out of the embrace. She looked up through still-dry eyes at the man she loved. She hated herself for not telling him now.  
  
"Goodbye, Harry. I'll see you at Auror training this fall, then," she said strongly.  
  
"Right," Harry said, then sniffed. "This fall. Bye 'Mione." He squeezed her hand and she turned to meet her parents.  
  
A strange sensation took over Harry's stomach for a moment, leaving him numb before finally turning to face the Dursleys for the last time. He was still blinking back tears. 


	3. After Hogwarts

As promised, Harry and Hermione wrote to each other over the summer. Harry had his own apartment in London while Hermione traveled with her parents. Both seemed back to their usual selves, and they never mentioned Ron in their correspondence. Hermione would tell him where she had been, where she was going, what she saw. Harry told her funny stories of what he'd been doing in the city and kept her up-to-date on the national Quidditch happenings. And they always made plans to meet up when she was back in the country, even if she was only here to do her laundry and take off again.  
  
On September 1st, Harry and Hermione apparated to the Ministry of Magic to begin their three year Auror training. Hermione, of course, helped Harry with all the logical and intellectual feats they were expected to perform, while Harry helped her with her reflexes and some of the more complicated spells. Hermione worked as a freelance writer during training and also lived in her own flat. Harry, still living easily off his inheritance but getting very bored, worked as a Quidditch referee most weekends.  
  
Their training seemed to fly by, and in no time at all Harry and Hermione were sharing an office, working diligently to catch the latest Dark wizards. They were always given the same assignments, as they were the new dynamic duo.  
  
Harry and Hermione's relationship never changed. Hermione was too afraid to lose her best friend to try to change it. Harry never thought about it. But if he had, he would have realized they were pleasantly hovering the line between friend and lover. They spent most of their free time together, talking about everything from work to Quidditch to news to Muggles to Ron. On one memorable occasion Harry admitted to Hermione that he felt responsible for Ron's death. Hermione promptly crawled into his lap took his face in her hands, and looked him in the eye.  
  
"Harry James Potter," she said firmly. "That was not your fault. You heard the second prophecy. It had to be that way. Besides, Ron would have wanted to die for a cause like that. You are not to blame."  
  
Harry met her eyes, gave a small nod and lightly kissed her. They curled up on the couch and fell asleep, Harry silently thanking her for hours.  
  
There was one topic Harry and Hermione never discussed: their love lives. Well, they never talked about Harry's love life; Hermione had none to speak of. She couldn't imagine being with anyone but Harry. He, on the other hand, had too many one-night stands to name. But none of them ever lasted more than a week. He didn't know it, but Harry was subconsciously comparing the girls to one woman. One he thought he hadn't met yet. 


	4. Parting

"Damn," Harry said under his breath. He was reading a report over Hermione's shoulder. They had just received news that their latest chase had been seen a thousand miles from where they suspected him to be.  
  
Hermione wasn't reading the report, though. The knot in her stomach was rising higher and higher as he leaned closer and closer, mumbling to himself as he read. She closed her eyes and her breathing grew ragged. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to get away from him.  
  
"I'm taking lunch," she said quickly as she shot up out of her chair. Harry's chin bumped her shoulder.  
  
"I'll come with you," he said, reaching for his cloak, still reading the report.  
  
"No!" she burst out. He snapped his head towards her, eyebrows raised, silently questioning her. "Umm, I'm, er, meeting someone," she lied.  
  
"Ok," Harry shrugged, turning back to the report. He knew she was lying, but he didn't want to push it.  
  
With a pop Hermione appeared in her apartment, slightly shaken. She flung herself on her couch and began to weep. This happened too much. No the crying, that was a first. She couldn't stand to be around him anymore. And she was with him all the time. All she wanted was Harry, to be Harry's. But he...  
  
"I have to go. I have to leave. I have to get out of here," she said to herself as her head snapped up from the armrest. She hastily wiped her cheeks and began to pack. If she hadn't been in such a state she would have remembered to use magic. Instead she began throwing things into boxes and trunks. In all the confusion, she didn't hear the familiar sound of someone apparating into her apartment.  
  
"'Mione?" Harry called from the living room. He stepped into her bedroom to see her frozen, kneeling in front of a chest of drawers. "Hermione?" he said again. "You didn't come back to the office, and I was...wait, are you going somewhere?" he said as he noticed all her clothes and possessions lying around the room. She slowly stood up and turned to face him. "Hermione!" he shouted, bounding across the room to her. "You've been crying! What's wrong?" he said as he took her face in her hands and looked at her. She turned away again. She felt her face burning where he had touched her.  
  
"Yes, I'm leaving tonight," she said, turning back to the chest of drawers.  
  
"For holiday? Hermione, what's going on?" he asked, concern rising in his voice.  
  
"No. I'm leaving. I have to get out of here," she said plainly.  
  
"But why? What's wrong?"  
  
She racked her brain for a suitable lie. "Work," she said.  
  
"Don't lie to me, Hermione. You love work. Now tell me what's going on!" he said firmly, impatience creeping into his voice. "Is it a guy? Your family? Did—"  
  
"Harry, I don't have to explain everything I do, especially not to you!" she shouted, turning to face him. She immediately felt a twinge of guilt as she saw his face. He stared at his shoes.  
  
"Is it me?" he asked softly, daring to look up at her. Her breath caught in her throat. She coughed slightly.  
  
"Of, course not," she said nervously, picking up a sweater and beginning to fold it. "I have to do this...for me."  
  
"Right then," he said with shining eyes. Hermione felt a kind of sick triumph at this. "Will you be back?"  
  
"I don't know," she said harshly. She continued packing, avoiding his gaze.  
  
"Goodbye, Hermione," he said gravely. She felt him leave and sat on her bed, staring ahead. She felt tears sting her eyes but quickly blinked them away. 'I won't cry for him,' she told herself. She hated herself for living him. She hated him for not loving her back. She hoped he would never get the letter and she could forget him. Forever.  
  
Harry stalked into the street, head hanging, feet moving of their own accord. It was a beautiful day. A day too beautiful for something like this to happen. Harry walked and walked, letting his mind drift and wander, not paying much attention to it. He was numb. He came to rest on a park bench and finally took charge of his thought.  
  
'Why would she just pick up and leave? Had she been planning this? What was waiting for her? A job? A guy? Why hadn't she told me? He better be damn good to her! What if he hurts her and she doesn't tell me? How can I help? What was that look when I asked her if it was me? Is it me? Is she mad at me? What did I do?' he pressed his palms against his eyelids and watched the fireworks. He had an awkward feeling that there was a question gnawing at the back of his mind. A question he didn't want to know the answer to. And the answer was sitting there in the pit of his stomach, eating away at his insides. 


	5. New Lives

Ch.5  
  
It had been three years since Harry and Hermione had seen each other. Hermione now lived in New York, writing for the American witch magazine, Spellbound. She had a new job, a new apartment, a new boyfriend, a new life. So why couldn't she just forget him?  
  
Harry continued his job as an Auror, often drowning himself in his work in attempts to forget. He had stopped dating. Weeks after Hermione had left, the question that was bubbling inside Harry finally broke the surface. Did he love Hermione? Well, of course he did. She was his best friend. Of course he loved her. No, he thought. There's more. A shudder ran through his body as he realized he had fallen for her. He loved her with all his heart. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her lying in his arms. He wanted her to say "I love you, too." But he knew that would never happen. He didn't love her. If she did she wouldn't have left. Right?  
  
Hermione thought she was happy with her new life in New York. She knew she should be. But she also knew the one thing that was keeping her from being happy. She tried with all her might, but Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she still belonged with Harry.  
  
Hermione told herself she loved her boyfriend. But deep down she knew she didn't. Hell, on the surface she knew she didn't. Even so, she wasn't going to let a little thing like that make her run back to Harry. So she hadn't found anyone yet, that doesn't mean he's not out there.  
  
Hermione and Samson's relationship had started out fine. He made her feel special when he brought her flowers. She loved when he took her on the roof to dance in the rain. She made him home-cooked dinners and let him stay with her in return. It seemed he was always between jobs. But he always found the money, somehow, to get his next fix. Hermione never took part in his "hobby", but she couldn't persuade him to quit.  
  
Hermione didn't want to leave Samson. What if she never found anyone else? It would just give her more time to think about Harry, something she really didn't need. But she was so tired. Tired of working so hard so he could have a place to sleep. Tired of helping him recover from the night before. Tired of his perpetual come-downs and hangovers. Tired of his lack of gratitude. Tired of being so lonely.  
  
One night Hermione came home to a sickly pale Samson, passed out on the bathroom floor. He had missed the toilet. That was it. She was done. She didn't care anymore. She quickly magicked everything she needed into a trunk and stepped out of her apartment and into the hall.  
  
Where was she going to go? Hermione didn't have any friends close enough she felt she could go to them now. One face kept popping into her mind. But she couldn't. She had come so far. No you haven't, a voice whispered in her head. Just because you haven't seen him for three years doesn't mean you love him any less. She knew the voice was right. But what about Harry? How did she know he wanted to see her? Were they still friends? After she left like that? He was probably so mad. And now he's forgotten about her, pushed her out of his mind. Tried to erase her. But she knew better. Even if he was still mad, they were still friends. Best friends. He still cared for her. He had promised her he would always be there. Now she was going to take him up on his offer.  
  
There was a soft knock on Harry's door. Then a pause. Another knock, louder this time. "Harry?" a voice called timidly. The knocker opened the door and peeked inside, still knocking. "Harry?" she called again. No one answered.  
  
Hermione stepped inside. Luckily, Harry hadn't moved. He obviously still lived here. Who else could live in this mess? A sad, nostalgic smile spread across Hermione's face as she walked around the living room, remembering all the time they had spent together here. She looked at all the pictures: Harry's parents, Sirius, the original Order of the Phoenix, Ron, the new order, even some of Harry and herself. And some of just her. In fact, there were a lot of these. That was a good sign. At least he wasn't so mad he had put the pictures away.  
  
Hermione decided to sit on the sofa and wait for Harry to get home, wherever he was. She winced slightly when she wondered if he was on a date. An hour passed before Hermione slumped over and fell into a deep sleep. It had been a very emotion night. And it was only going to get worse. 


	6. Reunion

Ch.6  
  
Harry apparated into his bedroom in high spirits. He was whistling and he practically bounced over to his dresser. He had just obtained a confession from their prime suspect in his latest case. He quickly undressed down to his boxers and climbed into bed. He lay in his back, smiling at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on his chest. He soon decided he wasn't at all tired and got up to have a snack. He bounded through the living room and into the kitchen, not noticing anyone fast asleep on his couch.  
  
He strode back into the living room a few minutes later, now humming as he brought his sandwich up to his lips. But then he stopped dead, mouth open, and dropped his ham-and-cheese. There was Hermione, the woman he loved and hadn't seen for three years, quietly snoring on his sofa. He slowly moved over to her and knelt down. He placed his hand on her shoulder, to wake her up and to make sure she was real.  
  
"Hermione?" he whispered. She stirred slightly but remained unconscious. "Hermione," he said louder. He eyes fluttered open with a smile. But the smile quickly disappeared and comprehension took its place.  
  
"Harry," she sputtered, jerkily moving to an upright position. "I was waiting for you to get home and I...fell asleep."  
  
"Obviously," he replied with a smile. "But why are you here?" his grin instantly vanished. "Are you Ok? What's wrong?" His eyes rapidly scanned her face and body. His right hand flew to smooth down her rumpled hair, his left grazed her cheek before they both rested momentarily on her shoulder and slid down her arms. She shivered. His face was full of worry and anxiousness.  
  
"Harry, I'm find," she said as she took his hands. "I just need a place to stay for awhile." His look of relief evaporated and his face turned stony.  
  
"Why should I?" he asked coldly, standing up and crossing his arms.  
  
"I...but...you..."she stammered. He had not expected this after she saw his initial reaction to her presence. Her worry bubbled inside her again. Before Hermione could answer, Harry marched across the room, picked up his forgotten midnight snack and stomped into the kitchen. Hermione rose slowly and cautiously followed him. She paused at the doorway. He was standing at the sink, leaning on his palms, with his back to her. His shoulders were heaving and Hermione could hear his heavy breathing. "Harry, you're all I have left. I thought you would help me," she said meekly. Her palms began to sweat.  
  
"You were all I had left, too!" he shouted. "And you were gone. You didn't even have the decency to give me a reason. I was your best friend! And you were so ungrateful! I died the day you left, Hermione!" He finally turned to face her.  
  
"Harry James Potter," she huffed, her voice rising. Anger had replaced her worry. "How dare you call me ungrateful! And if I remember correctly, I was your best friend, too! I didn't some pretty great things for you, too, mister! Ungrateful?! Hmph. I don't owe you anything!" she breathed heavily through her nose.  
  
"No," he said softly. The lowered volume did not muffle his anger. "You do owe me something. Two things, actually. First you owe me an explanation as to why you left. And you owe me the three years of my life I spent waiting for you.  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to retaliate, but closed it, dumbfounded at the last bit of information? "Waiting?" she whispered, her brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
"Tell me," he said firmly.  
  
"Fine," she sighed. Hermione knew she had no choice. She had to tell him.  
  
But just then Hedwig swooped in and dropped a letter on Harry's head. Hermione recognized it immediately. Her eyes began to sting and a wave of relief and happiness swept over her body. Harry just stared at the dirty, mangled old envelope. His name was printed neatly across the front, slightly smudged from what appeared to be tearstains. 


	7. Happy Ending

Ch.7  
  
Harry shot an angry glance at Hermione before ripping open the letter. But she didn't look mad or scared or hurt. She looked relieved and happy and about to burst. Not only did this confuse him, but it made him even more incensed. How could she be so happy? He wanted her to feel the pain he had felt those three years without her.  
  
As soon as Hermione recognized her letter any fear or doubt or worry that Harry would never forgive her vanished. She knew the only way he would ever get that letter would be if he truly loved her back. Hedwig settled on her shoulder and she stroked her while she watched Harry's eyes speed along the parchment in front of him, his face growing softer and softer the further his eyes traveled.  
  
June 4, 1999  
  
Dear Harry,  
If you are reading this letter, it means you love me. Really love me. Not the kind of friendship, brother-sister love, the way we used to be. Nor the sickeningly sweet "I love you more" "No I love you more," puppy love. A deep, burning, through mud blood and tears love. A love for the ages. Not the kind of love people write songs for; a kind of love people live and die for. A love that forgives but never forgets.  
  
You may wonder how I know this. Well, as you can see, I've known since at least our Hogwarts graduation, the day I'm writing this. And in truth, I hadn't known much longer than that. When Ron died, I kept going. I had suffered a great loss; I love Ron, as did you. But I kept going. I dwelled a lot on the matter and soon realized if it had been you that had died I wouldn't have kept going. If we hadn't learned how we felt when you were alive I would've died and gone to tell you. That is how I knew.  
  
I don't know what will have happened by the time you read this, but I hope it doesn't take too long.  
  
Harry, if 'm standing in front of you when you read this, please drop it now and kiss me. If I'm not there, drop it and come and find me and kiss me. So what are you waiting for?  
Love,  
Hermione  
  
Harry stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, gaping open mouthed at Hermione.  
  
"Well, are you going to or not?" she asked with a sly grin.  
  
He quickly came to his senses and launched at her. Hedwig fluttered to the top of the cupboards with an indignant hoot. But Harry didn't kiss her. His left hand settled in the small of her back. His right caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes and turned her face toward his hand. He caught the single tear that she had let slip. She opened her eyes and looked at her single glistening tear, shining perfectly atop his long slender finger. She kissed it away and looked up at him. She finally had the only thing she had wanted that past seven years. It had been a very long seven years.  
  
Harry looked down at the woman he had loved since he was eleven. His love may have changed over the years, but it never faltered. He bent his face towards Hermione's to taste the lips he had missed for so long. Her hands traveled through his messy raven hair before settling at the nape of his neck. His hands traveled down her sides and rested on her hips. He smoothly lifted her up onto the counter, their lips never parting. And they never would again. 


	8. Author's Note

A/N: This AN is just to tell you that the story is officially over. I guess I should have put a 'The End'. If you're upset by this, never fear. I've just posted a new one-shot fic (Realizations) and am in the process of getting another up. It's a nice long one. For those of you that like my writing but think this is too romantic (which I certainly think, but I'm a sucker for fluff), please check out the new story. It's sweet and romantic enough for us love-sick die-hard HHr shippers, but doesn't have the happy ending. Whoops, I may have just given something away. Oh well. Look for And in the end should someone die? (that's the title, silly). Also, for those of you that like my writing but think this is too light for you, please check out BohemianMuse at   
  
Apples, Kisses, and Shoes,  
BohemianMuse 


End file.
